some you give away
by bitterkidxsweety
Summary: Through the flying dust, he sees her standing in the middle of the road, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her blonde hair surrounding her head like a halo and he knows that his life will never be the same. Dean/Peyton.
1. Part I

**Title: **some you give away

**Author:** bitterkidxsweety

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **Through the flying dust, he sees her standing in the middle of the road, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her blonde hair surrounding her head like a halo and he knows that his life will never be the same.

**A/N:** AU. Takes place after 1.16 "Shadow" in SPN-verse (the Winchesters don't decide to split up.) In the OTH-verse, Ellie doesn't exist, and instead of meeting Lucas at the beach, Peyton left at the end of 2.23 "The Leaver's Dance" with her father and has been hunting with him since.

Furthermore, as you aware, due to the time jump, coupled with the fact that _Supernatural_ started two years after _One Tree Hill_, there are some time discrepancies. For the sake of this fic, Peyton is now twenty-one, Sam is twenty-two, and Dean is twenty-six. I am aware of the other numerous plot holes but we'll just attribute it to creative license. Enjoy.

xxx

It's ten o'clock in the morning and the diner is filled with the steady chatter of customers. Larry and Peyton come inside and sit down by the far side of the building and a waitress with bottle-dyed red hair comes by and places two menus in front of them.

The furniture has that distinct feel of being dirty and oily no matter how many times it's been wiped down, and the air is thick with the smell of eggs and bacon and pancakes and grease. Red and white checkered curtains hang on the dusty windows and the waitresses wear pale yellow uniforms with white aprons that have a ruffle trim at the hems.

Suddenly, the bell above the doorway jingles and a man enters, wearing jeans, a red flannel, and dirtied boots messily tied. There is something about him – from the black stubble on his chin, to the bags under his eyes, to the way he's so sure, as if he knows exactly where he is going, and it's not familiar, and it's not surprising, but Larry looks, and looks, and looks, and suddenly he sits straight in his seat with a look on his face like he's seen a ghost.

Peyton curiously glances between the two men and tries to think if she's seen him before; perhaps from some family barbeque long time ago, or at a church service. Before she realizes it, Larry is standing up and walking up to the unfamiliar man, and he's saying, "John?"

The man turns around, looks at her father, and they stare at each other until the man looks away and turns to leave. Larry blurts out, "Anna's dead," and it's like the world stops.

Peyton's eyes widen, Larry stares, and John stops walking.

"It's been almost…thirteen years, now…" he continues, and it's like he's realizing it for the first time himself.

Several minutes later, they're all sitting uncomfortably in a booth, drinking coffee.

xxx

_Larry's things sit in the middle of the hallway and Peyton absently picks it up and sets it next to the couch in the living room. As she turns to leave, something heavy slides out of his satchel and lands on the hardwood floor with a soft thud, and her eyes land on a worn, leather-bound book so thick that there are several rubber bands tying it together. _

_A piece of paper falls to the ground and she gingerly picks it up, fingers lightly touching the aged document as if it were an old relic. Her eyes catch the words "Anna Beth Sawyer nee Montgomery" and her entire body stiffens. It's a coroner's report. She thinks she's going to be sick._

_Her brain refuses to make complete sentences, thoughts running through her head and crashing into an incomprehensible heap of useless words. Her fingers deftly pull at the rubber band, and her eyes quickly scan the contents of the book – pictures and writings and drawings of symbols and theories and…creatures. With each passing page she feels the dread sink deeper and deeper, the cold shock and confusion trickling down her spine and into her very core._

_Larry suddenly appears, his frame blocking the hallway entrance._

"_What is all this?"_

_He takes the book from her and stuffs it into his bag with an angry shake of his head. "You know you're not allowed to touch my things, Peyton."_

_But she's not listening. She stands in front of him, her eyes wide and inquisitive. "Is all that true? Did…did someone murder mom? Some_thing?_"_

_He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, and he's looking at her so sad and so sorry and he just looks so fucking miserable and she knows that he's not lying._

"_And…and all those other things in your notebook…what is that?"_

xxx

Larry clears his throat and asks him how he's been, what has he been doing, and John humors him with one word answers. Peyton finds the dynamic awkward and wishes she wasn't sitting on the inside of the booth because the tension; it's suffocating.

Finally, Larry drags his hands over his face and talks about Anna and how she died, and how he's been on the road since then. There is a catch in his voice, and John closes his eyes, because he knows; he knows too well.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you," Larry says, and Peyton gives him a confused look, and John looks up.

"I'm sorry I was such an ass. I'm sorry I believed Mike and thought you had gone crazy. I'm sorry that when Mary died, I didn't try to help. I'm…" Larry sighs. "I'm sorry."

John stares at him emotionless, and then Larry looks him in the eye and says, "I know, John."

The food comes, but no one makes a move to eat.

"Did you know that almost everyone Mary knew passed away?"

There is silence and Larry takes a sip of his coffee.

"It wasn't long before it came after me too."

John finally looks at Larry and then he says the first sincere thing since they sat down for coffee.

"I'm sorry about Anna," he says, and he means it.

xxx

_She listens as he tries to explain. She feels like she's underwater, the words murky and far away, and she's suffocating, she can't breathe._

_Peyton gets up from the table so abruptly the chair falls backwards and she backs out of the room, tears threatening to overflow from her eyes. She moves without thinking, stumbling out of the front door, and the cold bites at her cheeks, at her fingertips, but all she can feel is the swell of emotions tumbling through her like waves crashing upon a shore. _

_She wants to go somewhere far away, but she only manages to make it down to the intersection in front of the police station when her knees buckle and her legs give way and she collapses onto the nearby bench, her hands coming up to brush the hair out of her eyes. She thinks she's having a panic attack and she breathes and she breathes and she breathes until her heartbeat slows down._

_Her father finds her an hour later, sitting on the bench, gazing at the stoplight as it changes color. He slowly sits next to her and they watch as the light turns yellow, red, green._

"_You lied to me."_

"_I know."_

"_How long?" she asks. _

_He swallows hard and wipes his hands on his jeans._

"_A few years after your mother died." he replies. _

_Peyton fiddles with the hem of her shirt._

"_Why didn't you tell me?" she asks, and she sounds so lost and so young._

"…_I didn't want you to be a part of that world, Peyton. I…How was I supposed to tell you that that monster under your bed could be real? How was I supposed to raise you telling you to be afraid of things?" he sighs. "I couldn't do that, Peyton. I just couldn't."_

_He gazes somewhere in front of him, his eyes glassy and faraway. _

"_When you were little, you were this…beautiful, innocent little thing. And you were so happy; all the time." _

"_You're always my little girl, Peyton."_

_Peyton leans her head on his shoulder, and they watch the lights change color. _

xxx

Dean walks into the restaurant an hour and a half later after he notices that his father has left. He showers, brushes his teeth, changes, and watches TV, and finally he can't stand it anymore and before he knows it he's walking across the street to the little rundown diner with a flickering neon sign that reads "Lulu's" on the dusty roof.

Dean is only a little surprised when he sees his dad sitting with someone in a red vinyl booth, talking about something or other that Dean's sure is about demons and ghosts and other things of the supernatural nature, (because really, what else would his dad be talking about?) but to his credit, John isn't really talking much, just sitting there nursing a cup of coffee in his hand, staring at the steam rising from his mug as the man across from him does the same.

He doesn't know if he should walk up to him or let them continue their conversation, but John lifts his eyes from his drink and spots him, and Dean finds himself making his way over, an awkward smile tugging on his lips.

When he gets there, he isn't sure why he didn't notice her before, because this girl; she looks up at him and he pauses for a second, those big hazel eyes stopping him in his tracks.

"Dean," his father says, and he literally has to tear himself away from her gaze. "This is Larry and his daughter, Peyton."

And Dean doesn't know what to say because he can't shake the feeling that he's missing something here.

Sam takes this opportunity to come through the door, the bell hanging above the doorway chiming cheerfully as he enters. He has a thoroughly irritated look on his face, and Dean turns back around and braces himself for the attack.

"What the hell, Dean? You're not the only one who's hungry."

Dean leans back a little with a fixed smile on his face, his brow raised to point out the two strangers in the booth in front of him, and it's almost comical how fast Sam's expression changes.

"Hi," he greets uneasily, and if wasn't awkward before, it's awkward now.

xxx

_Because_

_Peyton's mother was in a car accident._

_Because_

_Peyton's mother ran a red light._

_Because_

_Peyton's mother was dead before impact._

_Because_

_Peyton wasn't allowed to know about the four-inch gash across her mother's throat when they found her._

_Not until now, anyway._

xxx

They don't necessarily work together, but they don't work alone. The Winchesters travel in the Impala and Larry and Peyton quietly appear several days later in her Mercury Comet. They rent separate rooms, (John in one, Dean and Sam in the other, and Larry and Peyton in another,) and talk over latest sightings and information and work on local jobs if they happen to come across them. For the most part, they focus on finding the yellow-eyed demon.

xxx

_Her father takes one last look at the house and turns to leave, a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and a thick jacket draped over one arm. He hears his name and he turns around, and Peyton stands at the foot of the stairs holding a black bag with the word RAVENS printed across it in blue and white block letters._

_He grips the strap of his bag tighter. "Go back into your room, Peyton."_

_Her eyes are ablaze, her thin lips set in a firm line. She stands her ground. _

"_This isn't like those Scooby Doo cartoons you watched when you were younger. This is real. People get hurt. People _die_. Do you understand that?" _

_Peyton glares. _

"_Go back to your room."_

"_No."_

"_Peyton."_

"_I want to go with you."_

"_This is not open for debate! Now go back to your room!"_

_She crosses her arms in front of her and scoffs. "It's a little too late for you to be parenting, don't you think?"_

"_Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer!"_

_She turns to him, her emotions raging. "When was the last time that you were home? Four months ago? Five? And what about before that?...You are _never_ here." Her eyes begin to water. _

"_Do you have any idea what it's like to wait for you to come home? Do you have any idea what it was like, when that storm blew in last year, and I had to go all the way across town to _identify _your_ body_? What it was like, sitting there, not knowing if you were dead or alive, because the thunderstorm was _so_ bad that they had to close down the bridge?" She wipes away a stray tear with the back of her hand. "I know this is important to you. And I know it's dangerous. But now, it's important to me too. I'm coming with you."_

xxx

Dean and Peyton don't get along.

The first time he tries to talk to her, Peyton is standing alone on the balcony, trying to light a cigarette. He figures she doesn't smoke often; the cigarette hangs awkwardly from her fingers, and she coughs twice when she exhales.

He runs his hand through his hair, assumes his most charming attitude and walks up to her. But before he knows it, she swerves around, her fist swiftly coming towards him, and he quickly grabs her wrist, spins her around, and shoves her back against the metal railing.

"Easy, now," he says, and she squints at him before recognition registers across her face. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says, his grip loosening. "Can I let you go?"

She smirks before she kicks him in the shin, (hard,) twists his arm around his back, and pushes him into the wall as she had originally intended. An ungraceful grunt escapes his lips, and he tries not to think about how embarrassing this is, being thrown down by girl that couldn't be more than a hundred something pounds. He's really glad that Sam's not around.

And it's not like he can't take her, and it's not like he doesn't know that it's petty and lame, but now he and Peyton bicker and fight and throw sarcastic barbs at each other, and more often than not Sam is just sitting in a chair watching them throw words at each other like a game of tennis. (Or Ping-Pong. Whichever is harder to follow.)

Once, Sam offhandedly tells him that he's acting like a first grader who chases his crush around the playground and pulls at her pigtails. Dean tells him to shut his pie hole, because really, he couldn't be more wrong.

Sam and Peyton get along better.

He brings Peyton a cup of coffee every morning, and she idly passes him the current events section from her newspaper as he sits down across from her. They share a muffin or a piece of toast and laugh and talk over the crossword puzzle like they're some goddamn married couple it makes Dean sick. He gives them a sideways glance every so often and clears his throat and turns up the volume on the television, and sometimes Sam looks up and gives him a look, but other than that he doesn't get a response. One day, Peyton goes to her room to get something, and Dean watches her leave before he focuses his attention back to the screen.

"So, you and Peyton seem to be getting pretty close."

Sam nods absentmindedly, his eyes squinting slightly as he reads something about a series of murders in Texas – Teenagers found dead at an alleged haunted house. "Yeah. She's pretty cool."

Dean scoffs and Sam finally looks up from his newspaper.

"What's your problem, anyway?"

Dean lifts his brow. "Problem? No Problem. Just wondering if you've gone insane."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

But Dean just shrugs and Sam thinks he looks a little too interested in the television.

"Wait a minute…do you…do you like her?" he finally asks, and Dean makes a face.

"Me? Please. That girl is nuts. With her attitude, and her mood swings, and that damn deer-in-the-headlights look she always has when you so much as say her name," he replies. "What's with that, anyway? They just look at you all...big…and…green…" He mutters the last part and he knows he's in trouble the moment he says it even before Sam puts the paper on the desk and leans back in his chair with a big smile on his face.

"You do! You like her!" Sam all but accuses.

Dean doesn't know why, but he starts to panic and his eyes begin to dart around the room. "Do not!" He argues petulantly.

Sam guffaws, (his head tilting back, his hands slapping at his knees,) and Dean fails to find the amusement.

"You look like an idiot," he says, and his brother shakes his head as if he doesn't care, but he stops laughing, and Dean takes a small satisfaction out of that.

They don't get to say much else, because Peyton comes back in and when she notices the weird tension in the room and asks what's going on, Sam just smiles and Dean just glares.

xxx

Peyton knows that she gets along with Sam better than she gets along with Dean. There's just something about Sam that reminds her of home. He's compassionate and smart and likes Steinbeck.

She looks up from her crossword puzzle and steals a glance at Dean. He's sitting at the edge of the bed, cleaning his gun with a red handkerchief, and she pauses, studying his hands, the muscles in his arms, his broad shoulders, the chiseled line of his jaw.

But Dean; Dean reminds her of what she left home for.

xxx

They're pursuing a lead in New Mexico and decide to drop-in on the haunted house Sam had been reading about in the paper on the way. The Winchester's arrive first, checking out a local music store where they had tracked down a kid linked to the house. The boy relates to them the legend of a ghost named Mordecai Murdoch, a farmer who had lived their previously and had murdered his daughters by hanging them in the cellar. Dean and Sam are dubious, but they go to see it anyway.

When they visit the building, they see the Comet already parked outside. Inside, the house is painted with a mass array of various symbols along the wooden walls and the hardwood floor. Peyton and Larry emerge from the kitchen moments later and they share the information that they had already gathered – While they recognized several of the cryptic images, it was primarily a hodgepodge of symbols with seemingly no connections.

They are still investigating the house when they hear a suspicious noise coming from the other room. They instinctly aim their guns in the direction of the mysterious sound and Sam and Dean nod at each other before the latter kicks the door open, ready to attack.

Bright light flashes in his eyes and they are both disoriented for a few seconds.

"Cut. They're just a couple of humans."

Two teenage boys, armed with video cameras, flashlights, a homemade EMF transmitter, and dressed in what Dean could only identify as clothes solely fit for fly-fishing stand in front of him. When Dean asks what they're doing there, they blabber on and on about ghosts and radio waves and the supernatural in that irritatingly exasperated, arrogant tone, (the one where they act as if they are trying to explain advanced physics to preschoolers,) and when he discreetly glances over at Sam to shoot him an amused look, Sam is already sharing one with Peyton.

Later, Dean walks by a joke shop and purchases a packet of itching powder. Sam doesn't stop wincing and walking bow-legged for the rest of the day.

xxx

They solve the case in less than two weeks and afterward, John, Dean, and Sam drive to New York to explore a series of murders surrounding an estate in New Paltz, (they could rest when they were dead.) Larry and Peyton follow a lead in Missouri.

Dean sweeps the estate with the EMF, and John and Sam do a background check on the house. They both come up clean.

After some research, they discover that all the furniture had been sold to an auction house belonging to a Daniel Blake. John stays in the motel room, leaving the boys in charge of the case while he focuses on the Yellow-Eyed-Demon, and Sam and Dean go to further their investigation. When they come back, they are bickering about someone named Sarah and providence (to which Sam keeps correcting, "provenance," in an irritated tone.)

"A provenance is a certificate of origin, like a biography, you know? We can use em' to check the history of the pieces, see if anything's got a freaky past."

Dean purses his lips. "Huh. Well we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but, uh, Sarah?" he smirks.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin," he says to Dean, but Dean just chuckles.

"Not me."

The implications hit Sam, and he is quick to protest. "Oh, no, no, no, no; pickups are your thing, Dean."

"It wasn't my butt she was checkin' out."

Sam stares at him incredulously. "You want me to use her to get information," he confirms.

"Sometimes you gotta take one for the team, Sam," Dean adds merrily. He holds out his cellphone to Sam. "Call her."

When Larry and Peyton finally reach New York after finishing their hunt, Sam and Sarah are already on their date.

xxx

Dean stops by the convenient store at midnight and he juggles a brown paper bag and a donut in his hands as he walks down the cracked sidewalk leading back to his motel room. The pool is lit, the distorted yellow lights swaying with the rippling water, and the waves lap against the edges of the cool concrete as he passes by.

He sees something white and green and blonde by the rickety, yellowing beach chairs, and he pauses, still chewing on his donut, and looks around, wondering if he's seeing things.

The figure abruptly turns around, and he steps back as wide, hazel eyes look up at him.

"Peyton," he says with a wry smile.

Her feet are dangling in the cool water, the cuffs of her jeans rolled up past her knees, and she's holding a green blanket over her shoulders.

"Dean."

Her eyes land on the pastry in his hands and she raises an eyebrow.

"Do you ever stop eating?" she asks.

He raises an eyebrow right back.

"Do you ever stop being annoying?"

Peyton makes a face and flips him the bird.

"Oh, that's pleasant."

She turns back around.

He should be getting back, really, but he just stands there and looks at the motel and then to her again and again: motel, Peyton, motel, Peyton. Finally he walks around the iron fence and takes a seat next to her on the floor, the paper bag falling next to him with a thud.

The few lights still turned on in the building slowly dim, and the water from the pool gently hits the sidewalk as she lightly kicks her feet back and forth.

"My dad and I just drove in a couple hours ago."

Dean nods in acknowledgement. "Sam's on a date."

She pulls the blanket around her closer around her. "I heard," she replies. "Sam says she's an art history student."

He scrutinizes her from the corner of his eye. She's staring contemplatively at the water, the rhythmic waves creating hypnotic shadows on her face.

"My friend wrote a book, you know," she continues. "He's my age but he's already made the New York Bestseller's List. And my best friend started her own fashion line in high school and was featured in _Vogue_ last month." She doesn't sound resentful or jealous, and Dean takes that as a good sign.

"You have some pretty ambitious friends."

"Yeah...I used to think that I was going to go to college with them. Probably major in art history. Or maybe fine art or music," she says.

"I miss…" she takes a deep breath. Tree Hill, Brooke, dates, her life before it all came crashing down.

"I miss a lot of things."

He opens a bottle of beer and hands one to her and she politely accepts as he reaches into the bag for another. They sip their drinks and listen to the moving water and watch the rise and fall of lights refracting off the surface, and it's enough.


	2. Part II

When they meet again in Wisconsin two months later, (investigating a city where a mysterious epidemic was spreading among children,) they are not surprised.

They impersonate health officials, interview the hospital staff, surf the internet for some clues, and they meet up back at a motel at nine o'clock that night.

Larry and John aren't back yet, so Peyton, Dean and Sam watch television in the boys' room as they wait. There's a _CSI: Miami_ marathon on one of the channels, (there's nothing better on,) and Sam and Peyton take turns imitating Horatio Caine. Dean glares.

After the third time Sam puts on imaginary sunglasses and Peyton dramatically utters a cheesy one-liner and they both crack up, Dean gets up from his chair and says that he needs a drink. The door slams behind him, and Sam and Peyton exchange looks, but the moment is broken when the voice of David Caruso filters through the speakers in the form of another cheesy pun.

A couple of hours after he leaves, John calls, his voice tired and controlled, and Sam straightens in his seat and looks over at Peyton. She stops laughing at some joke Sam had told beforehand and stares at him apprehensively, waiting for a response. John tells Sam that there's been an accident; they were on their way back to the motel when they were attacked. He doesn't go into more detail.

They drive to the hospital, Sam in the driver's seat, Peyton in the passenger's. She sits straight and grips the side of her seat so hard her knuckles turn white, but she still hasn't shed one tear. When they arrive, Peyton rushes over to the nearest doctor and Sam quickly follows, his steps slowing just slightly as he sees his father sitting in the waiting room. The doctor informs them of Larry's condition – wound to the head, internal bleeding, coma. The words seem to float around her, jumbling in a murky buzz, not really processing.

Sam corners John several moments later, and he confirms suspicions that it was a demon; he doesn't know who, exactly, and Peyton breaks away from her trance and stares at him, hard.

"You're hiding something," she says.

He sighs and runs his hands over his face and when he speaks he doesn't look at her. "The demon was looking for me, Peyton."

Sam attempts to call Dean again but he still won't answer the phone. He looks at Peyton and back to the phone and he slowly pulls himself up and walks over to her, gently placing his hand on her upper arm. "I'm going to go get Dean. Are you going to be ok?" he asks. She swallows dryly before nodding in affirmation, and Sam kisses the top of her head and squeezes her hand before he brushes past her, leaving Peyton with the eldest Winchester.

John looks up and brown eyes meet hazel.

Her eyes water, but she still hasn't shed one tear.

xxx

Dean sits at a bar, hunched over the counter, his arms folded in front of him. His phone rings, but he checks the caller ID then turns it on silent. As the night progresses, he tries to pick up a couple of girls, but his attempt is half-hearted and more for amusement than anything else, so he downs a few more beers and makes his way back to the motel where he's sure he would probably find Sam and Peyton cuddling or fucking or something to that effect, but he's tired and pleasantly buzzed and what is he supposed to do? Sleep on the sidewalk?

When he comes back, his room is vacant. He's glad that he doesn't find Peyton and Sam in some compromising position, but Dean can't help but feel as if something is off. The door clicks open and when he spins around, he finds Sam standing at the doorway.

"Where have you been, Dean?"

Sam has that bitch-face on, the one where his brow furrows and his lips purse a little; the one that he has on when he's about to explain something to Dean that everything is going wrong and it's his fault.

He hates Sam's bitch-face.

"Does it matter? You two seemed pretty cozy without me."

Sam stares at his older brother incredulously and shakes his head. "Really, Dean? Are you serious?"

Dean ignores him and proceeds to splash his face with water, and Sam clenches his fists and grinds his teeth. "Larry's in the hospital."

"What?"

"Dad and Larry were attacked a couple hours ago. I just dropped Peyton off and came to see if you had gotten back yet."

"You tell me this _now_?" Dean asks angrily.

Sam flashes him a look of disbelief. "Well I tried calling," he replies sarcastically, and Dean can't say anything.

Twenty minutes later, Dean and Sam exit the elevator onto the third floor and see John look up at them from his seat and Peyton leaning against the white wall, waiting for some news on her father. Sam nods reassuringly at her and walks past them to talk to a surgeon who had just come out of the operating room, and Dean slows to a halt a few feet in front of her. They stare at each other like they're in some kind of western showdown, waiting for the other to make the first move.

His mouth suddenly feels dry and words escape him. She is looking at him with those eyes, tired and sad and something else, and he doesn't know how to act. He coughs uncomfortably and looks away, and when he lifts his eyes to her again she is staring somewhere off to the side.

He still doesn't know how to act.

xxx

She arrives back at the motel the next afternoon and just as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she pauses. Her fist comes to rest against the wall, her eyes close in pain, her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. She shakes her head and wills the tears from falling from her eyes, and something inside of her, something like panic, fear, and helplessness, rises like a balloon filling with helium, suffocating her little by little.

An object softly hits her ankle, and her eyes open in surprise. A red ball slowly rocks back and forth at her feet, slowing to a stop, and she looks up again to see a young boy running towards her. He comes to a halt when he sees her, his brown eyes staring at her innocently.

"Hi," she offers.

"Hi."

She gestures to the object lying at her feet. "This yours?"

He nods and she shakily picks up the ball and rolls it back and forth between her hands. She recognizes his face; she's seen him playing around the building every so often.

"Your mom runs this place, right?"

"Yeah."

She tosses the ball back to him.

"Thanks. I'm Asher," he says.

"Peyton."

He squints. "Like the football player?" he inquires, and a soft smile tugs at her lips in spite of herself.

"Like the football player," she affirms.

"But you're a girl."

"So?"

"And he's a guy."

"Yeah? I bet I have a better crossover dribble then he does."

"There's no crossover dribble in football. That's basketball."

She tilts her head to the side. "Is it? Well then; I still stand by my statement. I always was more of a basketball girl."

Another boy comes running in – taller, older. He grabs the ball from the younger boy then nods his head at Peyton.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"Peyton."

"Like the football player, Mike," Asher amends.

"Exactly."

"She likes basketball better, though."

Peyton smiles.

xxx

Dean already has an idea of what has been targeting the children in Fitchburg. He thinks he's encountered it before, and a part of him really hopes that he's right, and a part of him really hopes that he's not. He goes to his father's motel room to confirm his suspicions and finds him walking out with a duffel bag in his hand. He peers inside and sees the maps and pictures and newspaper clippings cleared out from the desk and he can feel his whole body stiffen.

John almost looks apologetic and even though Dean gets what's going on, and gets why he's doing this, it doesn't mean he doesn't like it any less.

"Let us come with you, dad, we can help."

But John has that look on his face, the one that's all sad, and wanting; the one that means _no_, and he swallows thickly and he places his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, son, but you boys are safer without me."

Dean protests, but John won't have it.

"You take care of your brother."

And it's an order.

Dean stares into his father's eyes, but nods once in understanding and when his father brushes past him, he doesn't watch him go.

Later that night, he finds his dad's journal sitting underneath his pillow.

xxx

She knocks at their door later that night, and she smiles weakly at Sam before she enters with two pizza boxes and a plastic bag full of condiments. He helps her unload the groceries and he furrows his eyebrows as he takes out a jar of pickles and a can of pineapples. When he pulls out a packet of bologna, he gives her a look, but she just smirks in return.

She sits Indian-style in one of the chairs and sprinkles pineapples and bits of bologna on her pizza, and when Sam tentatively calls her name, she just fishes a pickle out of the jar and breaks off a piece with a loud crunch.

Dean gets up from his bed and walks up to them, his brow raising as he spots the unusual array of foods scattered over the table. His gaze lands on Peyton, and her expression is dull and clouded and closed off. He looks into her eyes and he's not sure, but he thinks he sees something familiar.

Peyton stares at him innocently and offers him some of her pizza, and she's surprised when Dean gladly accepts and takes a huge bite, flashing her a grin as he does. He takes a look at it mid-chew then nods approvingly.

"Want some, Sammy?" he asks, but Sam looks at both of them like they've both gone crazy.

Dean leans back in his chair and shrugs his shoulders and says, "Your loss," and when Peyton smiles, Dean has to try extra hard to act like he doesn't notice.

Because when his mom died and his father became obsessed, more often than not Dean and Sam ate cereal and poptarts for breakfast, lunch and dinner so much that now they can't even look at a box of lucky charms without wanting to throw up. When Sam asked for the millionth time why they were having cereal and pop-tarts _again_, Dean told him to shut up and eat, but he thinks now that if he were creative enough they probably would've eaten apple-peanut butter-eggo-cereal and honey-peaches-cocktail olive-poptarts and they wouldn't have to hate lucky charms.

But it's not like he's going to tell her that.

xxx

Peyton watches Dean take another bite of his pizza and she thinks she sees something.

She thinks she sees Nathan, her first boyfriend, showing up in her room after spending the entire day training for basketball with his father, the weight of the world resting on his broad shoulders.

She thinks she sees Jake, her second boyfriend, standing in the road, asking with his eyes what she was doing out there in the middle of the night.

She thinks she sees Lucas, her…something…kneeling in front of her and asking, "Pretty sure?"

She thinks.

xxx

Dean exits his room just as Peyton exits hers. They notice each other at the same time, and the click of their doors gently closing behind them fades down the empty corridor.

Peyton leans against the wall decorated with garish seventies-patterned wallpaper and bites her bottom lip as if that would make it stop from trembling. Though her eyes say something, her lips say nothing.

He walks up to her and gently touches her elbow and she looks down and instinctively wraps her arms around herself, her long limbs hugging her slender frame. The dim lighting bathes her complexion in a warm yellow glow and the shadows pool at the crook of her collarbone and the hollows of her cheeks, softening her features and enhancing the long, thick lines of her lashes. When she finally looks at him, her green eyes are filled with so much question and hurt he tenses.

Dean's free hand reaches for her other arm and this time Peyton reaches back. He holds her as she cries.

xxx

Sometimes, when Peyton comes back from the hospital, she sees Michael and Asher playing in the lounge.

Sometimes, Peyton joins them.

They play board games and cards and one time, they even play a game of Twister.

Peyton quickly finds that Asher is easy going and Michael is more guarded. It takes him longer to warm up to her, and even when he does, he is still a little defensive. Fortunately for her, he expresses it with sarcasm and smart-alecky remarks. It amuses her more than anything else, to be honest.

Michael flicks the plastic hand on the wheel and waits for it to land. "Left hand, yellow," he says dully.

Peyton and Asher carefully maneuver their limbs around each other.

When Sam and Dean walk in on them, Peyton is bent over with her arms and legs crisscrossed in various directions. Dean raises an eyebrow and inclines his head.

"Peyton?" asks Sam.

At the sound of her name, Peyton promptly turns around, causing her to lose her balance. Her foot slips, causing it to hit Asher's hand, causing it to slide, causing it to collide with Peyton's arm, (and so forth and so forth,) and they all tumble down on the colorful, spotted, vinyl mat in a heap of limbs.

Peyton sits up and her eyes are alive and her cheeks are red with laughter. She reaches out to grab Asher and captures him in a playful headlock, ruffling his hair as he attempts to sit upright.

"Dean, Sam; this is Michael and Asher. Michael, Asher; this is Dean and Sam."

"You wanna play with us?" Asher asks, and Dean's brow shoots upward.

Peyton suppress a smile.

xxx

Later that night, Dean confesses his theory to Sam and Peyton. They're in the boys' room again, Sam sitting near the door, Peyton lounging on his bed, Dean taking a seat near the window.

At first they are confused, neither of them having any prior knowledge to the monster they were hunting at hand. Dean explains that it's kind of a witch, (he thinks,) but that he doesn't know much more about them. Sam is still skeptical, so Dean recalls a recollection seventeen years ago, when John, Dean, and Sam were in Fort Douglas. Sam doesn't remember.

"You think it's the same one Dad hunted before?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, maybe."

"But if Dad went after it, why is it still breathing air?"

"'Cause it got away."

"Got away?"

"Yeah, Sammy, it happens."

"Not very often."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. I mean, maybe Dad didn't have his Wheaties that morning."

"What else do you remember?"

"Nothin'. I was a kid, all right?"

Peyton notices Dean's defensive, evasive tone, Sam's suspicious looks, and she says nothing.

xxx

Asher gets sick on a Thursday morning.

Peyton hears the slam of a door and frantic footsteps in the hallway, and she peeks outside to spot the boys' mother, Joanna, carrying an armful of blankets and pillows and an overnight bag. The bag slips from her fingers and lands on the floor, and Peyton hurriedly walks over and picks it up for her. The older woman is temporarily shocked at her presence, but it quickly dissipates as she recognizes her as the young woman who she sees entertaining her children from time to time. "Peyton."

"Is everything alright?" she asks.

"Everything's fine." But even as she says this, her hands shake and her voice fights to remain steady.

"Joanna…"

She sighs. "Asher, he's…he's sick. The doctor's say he got pneumonia."

A cold chill runs down Peyton's spine.

She follows Joanna out to the car, and spots Dean and Sam sitting on the stone steps a few feet away, talking to Michael. She sees Sam's concerned look, Dean's clenched jaw, and she knows that they know.

Peyton snaps back around when she hears keys hitting the cement floor and a curse escape Joanna's lips. The older woman's eyes close, and her hand reaches up to rest on her forehead as she struggles to regain her nerves. They recognize that she is no condition to drive, and Sam offers to take her to the hospital. She is reluctant, but he insists, and soon both she and Sam are pulling out of the parking lot, leaving Dean and Peyton standing there alone.

He looks over at her and sees her, watching the car disappear down the road, and he is suddenly struck by how tired she looks just then – jaded, even. Her blonde curls are tousled and unkempt, her posture listless, her expression utterly lost, and he can feel something inside him break just a little. He turns to her and she wordlessly slips herself into his side, both arms sliding around his waist, her head tucking under his chin. His own arms wrap around her shoulders, her neck, holding her close.

"It's going to be ok," he tells her.

She holds him tighter.

xxx

Peyton and Dean arrive at the hospital several moments later, and Sam informs them of Asher's condition. He's exhibiting the same symptoms as the other sick children in the town, and he is steadily growing worse. Dean gets Joanna coffee, Peyton holds her hand, and afterwards, Peyton, Dean, and Sam go to check on Larry's progress.

He lays in white and pale blue sheets, his head heavily bandaged, one eye bruising an ugly purple-green color, and needles and tubes inserted into the inside of his arm. The doctor tells them that unfortunately, he isn't showing any progress and Peyton nods and politely thanks him.

She takes a seat next to the bed, and Sam takes one on the other side of the room, and Dean leans on the frame of the doorway. They spend the remainder of the day in the hospital room amidst the steady beeping of the machines and the quiet chatter of hospital gossip.

xxx

When Peyton arrives in front of their door later that night, Dean answers, a blue toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, and she slowly glances up at his half-naked body, (hotfuck_damn_) temporarily speechless. She glances between him and the inside of his room and they stand there, unsure of what to do, before she strides past him to sit on Sam's bed, whispering for him to wake up. Sam groggily opens his eyes, but the only things that registers is "sorry," "tonight," and "stay," and he rolls over to the other side to let her get in. They sleep with their backs facing each other.

When Dean flips off the light, he glares at their silhouettes as he crawls into his own bed and turns around and sleeps with his back facing both of them.

The next morning, Dean comes out of the shower, rubbing a towel against his head, and he stops short when he sees the sleeping figures lying on the other bed. Peyton is snuggled in the blankets, her body curved towards Sam, and Sam is sleeping on his back, his face turned to her. The tip of his nose just almost touches the bridge of her nose, and his bottom lip just almost touches her upper lip, but despite the fact that there's no real physical contact, there is something vaguely intimate about the way they sleep.

It's sickening, really.

Dean opens the blinds with a fast tug and the sunlight streams through the window.

"Rise and shine, sleepyheads!" he shouts with a grin.

Their brows furrow and their eyes blink dizzily at the sudden light. Peyton turns over and buries her face in her pillow and Sam blearily pulls his over his head.

"Was that really necessary, Dean?" comes his muffled voice.

Dean cocks his head to one side and opens up his arms, the smile still stretched across his face. "Big day ahead of us, Sammy," he replies.

"I hate you."

"Don't be silly. You love me."

Dean flips on the clock radio and starts singing loudly along to Lynard Skynard, complete with exaggerated facial expressions and obnoxious dancing. He makes his way over to the bed and leans forward until his lips are mere centimeters from Peyton's ear and singsongs "morning, sunshine."

She knows that he's trying to be annoying, but the only thing that she notices is how close he is and how he smells like guy and soap and aftershave and she rolls away from him before she does something stupid, say, like, jump him right then and there, and rolls right into Sam, who grunts in response as her shoulder comes in contact with his chest.

Good morning. 

xxx

Dean knows that his plan will be controversial, but he suggests it anyway. Just as he suspected, Sam is incredulous and Peyton is furious. Dean responds to their criticism in matter-of-fact, straight-laced answers, which only serve to fuel Peyton's annoyance. They continue to argue back and forth, both stubborn in their position, and once in awhile, Sam's rational voice interrupts in an attempt to calm the tempest that brews between them.

All of a sudden, Dean explodes. He explodes that it's his fault, he explodes that he's the reason the shtriga was still living, he explodes that it's his job to make sure that thing is dead, and Peyton and Sam are stunned speechless.

Peyton stares at him, her soft eyes, her expression even softer. "What are you saying, Dean? How is it your fault?"

Dean is silent, and Sam sighs.

"Dean, you've been hiding something from the get-go. Since when does dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away? Now, talk to me, man, tell me what's goin' on."

Dean doesn't speak for a moment. And then he relays the story of how it had attacked Sam, how he was helpless to stop it, and Sam and Peyton are silent.

"You were just a kid."

"Don't –" he pauses. "Don't. Dad knew this was unfinished business for me."

An uneasy expression crosses Sam's face. "But using Michael? I don't know, Dean. I mean, how about one of us hides under the cover, you know, we'll be the bait?"

But Dean just shakes his head. "No, that won't work. It's gotta get close enough to feed. It'll see us. Believe me, I don't like it. But it's gotta be the kid."

xxx

The shtriga is destroyed in a tumultuous battle that ends with Sam almost getting the life force sucked out of him and Dean emptying his shotgun into the monster until there is nothing left but a pile of robes. Dean turns around to see Peyton launching herself into Sam's arms, and his expression is emotionless as he watches her hold on to him, murmuring for him to never to do that again.

Later that night, he walks back to his room after a couple of drinks at the local bar, and Peyton is standing by his doorstep. Her gaze turns to him, her eyes filled with concern. She reaches up softly, her fingers gently touching the cut on the side of his head, and they gently slide down and hold his chin, tilting it to the right to get a better look.

Her hand falls from his face and he catches it in his. They both stare at their joined hands, their palms lightly sliding against each other, her soft one familiarizing itself with his calloused one. Her hand shifts to the right and their fingers hesitatingly entwine. It's like something clicks between them, like a key turning a lock.

Their eyes meet and then his lips are on hers, soft and tentative at first, then deeper and more confident. Their mouths move languidly against each other's until she can feel the heat rising from the pit of her stomach and spreading throughout her limbs and when she releases a soft moan in appreciation it's all that he can do not to take her then and there. He guides her against the wall and pushes his body against hers, their kisses becoming hungrier and their touches growing hotter with each passing second.

They are brought back to reality by the soft click of a door opening and closing followed by a distant cough as a hotel tenant makes his way to the ice machine. His head drops to the crook between her neck and shoulder and they stay pressed against the wall as they gasp for much-needed air. Her finger then tugs at the belt loop in the waistband of his jeans to bring him even closer and he chuckles a little before raising his eyes to meet hers. Their eyes are heavy with lust, her hair is a mess, but somewhere amid the hazy cloud of yearning they are reminded of the weight of their impending actions.

They stare at each other for what seems like hours, bodies still pushed together, chests heaving, the sound of their own heartbeats pounding in their ears; and then she tilts her head towards him so that her lips hover over his and gently places them on top of his.

They just barely make it to her room.

xxx

Sam and Dean are in a diner somewhere, looking over the local newspaper for a job, when Dean suddenly sits straight up, his brow furrowed. _Daniel Elkins…passed away…_ The name rings a bell, and he recognizes it as a name from his father's journal.

They return to the hospital where Peyton sits next to her father, staring at his comatose form. When she looks up at him, he doesn't say anything, but somehow they can feel their paths diverging, little by little, like a crack in a dam.

Later, Dean sees Peyton sitting in the backseat of her car with the top rolled down, sketching something in her notepad. He looks around before he approaches, his steps slow and reluctant, and his head tilts to the side as he nears, trying to catch a glimpse of her drawing. He thinks he sees something like a stoplight, but he's not sure, because Peyton makes three more thick black strokes before she flips the cover over her picture and looks up at him.

She grabs his arm and pulls him into her car, his limbs flailing awkwardly as he lands half on the seat and half on her. She scoots over a little bit until he's sitting fully on the seat, and the silence envelops them.

"They're transferring my dad to Tree Hill Memorial," she says. Some of my friends are going to come down here and drive back home with me. I don't see them often, so this'll be good for us."

He nods and looks down at his entwined hands. "That's good. That's…great."

A soft smile tugs at her lips. "We both knew that you had to go sooner or later, Dean. And I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself."

"I know," he says knowingly.

"And this is bigger than all of us."

"Yeah."

Peyton untangles one of his hands and holds it in hers.

xxx

Her father is transferred to Tree Hill three days later and her friends arrive to pick her up the next morning. Peyton introduces Sam and Dean to Lucas, Nathan, Haley, and Brooke, and they exchange handshakes and polite hellos.

Later, she hugs Sam tight, her arms wrapped around his waist and her face buried in his chest. He holds her just as tight; his arms wound firmly around her shoulders and his own face half-hidden in her curls. He whispers reassuring words to her, and she closes her eyes, willing the tears to go away, but some of them seep out anyway. When they finally let go, she holds his hands and looks into his eyes, and makes Sam promise him that he would take care of himself and that he would keep in touch.

Before Dean knows it, Peyton is standing in front of him, her big, hazel doll eyes already glassy with tears. He pushes himself off of his car and walks toward her, his eyes full of emotion, and she smiles a watery smile before throwing herself against him. For some reason it catches him by surprise, but soon his arms are sliding up to hold her closer and his face is buried in her hair and he's holding her tightly and trying to memorize every aspect of her; the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her skin, the exact color of her hair. She slowly pulls away and grabs his hands with both of hers, but she can't look him in the eyes like she did with Sam. Dean tilts his head to the side and attempts to catch her downward gaze. "You gonna cry now?" he teases, a small smile tugging at his lips, "Cus I hate it when girls cry," he says, and she humors him with a small smile of her own.

"I'm gonna miss you, Dean," she whispers, and there is just something about that moment, something soft, and tender, and warm, and he reaches out and cups the side of her face. He kisses her and he can't think. All he knows is the feel of her lips on his, the touch of her skin on his. His hands slowly caress the sides of her face, her back, her waist.

He holds her face in his hands and brings his forehead against hers. Her eyes are closed and she refuses to look up, afraid that when she does she has to let go.

"Peyton, I…"

But she shakes her head to cut him off. "I know," she says, and she's smiling now.

He kisses her again and when they break for air, this time, she doesn't break his gaze.

"You boys be safe," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

When they drive away, he makes it halfway down the lane before he finally looks back into the rearview mirror. Through the flying dust, he sees her standing in the middle of the road, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her blonde hair surrounding her head like a halo and he knows that his life will never be the same.


End file.
